Who You Gonna Call?
by Shinoda Senshi
Summary: There are a number of things Chris Jericho is willing to do to get what he wants. Destroying a perfectly good laptop is one of them. *warning: contains slash aka m/m pairings*
1. He's Something Strange

**Who You Gonna Call?**

"Jeff, can you do me a favor?" Chris handed the man a mango-flavored Snapple.

Jeff graciously accepted the beverage. "Can I do you a favor?" he repeated. He paused to peruse the interesting fact printed on the inside of the bottle cap. "You're my best friend. I'd give you my blood. I'd give you my kidney. If you ever decide to populate the world, I'd gladly submit my sperm to your surrogate."

"While that's extremely kind of you, I don't…" An errant question crept into Chris' brain. "Why would I use your sperm? Mine are more than capable of providing the genetic material?"

"Your genetic material is defective," replied Jeff. "I love ya, Chris, but you can be bat-shit crazy sometimes. Now, what's your favor?"

While Jeff Hardy had been Chris Jericho's best friend since college, he never failed to be a pain in the ass. Still, Jeff was trust worthy. Jeff was loyal. Jeff was the person Chris called to spray paint the word "douche" on an ex-boyfriend's car. Allegedly.

Sitting across from Jeff at the dining room table, Chris induced the favor. "I need you to break my laptop."

The sound that shot out of Jeff's mouth was a crossbreed between a gurgle and a scream. Snapple dribbling down his chin, Jeff clutched the edge of the table. "Have you lost your pretty little mind? That laptop is your baby!"

"I know, Jeff."

"You go to bed with that machine more nights than with a real, live person!"

Chris frowned. "I think you might be exaggerating a bit there." While Chris did love his little Lucinda, it wasn't like he used it to surf porn or anything. It broke his heart that she would have to be sacrificed for a greater good.

Unrelenting, Jeff accused, "Did you or did you not phone me the minute you pulled it out of the box? Demanding that I drop whatever I was doing so I could bask in the glow of its LCD screen, admire its slim design, and marvel at the speed of its little engine?"

If he were a lesser man, Chris would have hung his head in shame. Instead, he remained defiant. "She doesn't have an engine! This is a computer, not a Ferrari."

"And what was I doing, you ask?" Once Jeff got started on a rant, he was damn near unstoppable. "Spending some quality time with my brother. And do you know what happens to Matt if I leave him by himself in a mall?"

Chris thumped his head down on the solid maple table. "You're gonna tell me anyway, aren't you?"

Shooting to his feet, Jeff shouted, "He buys George Foreman grills!"

He knew he would regret it. But Chris just had to ask. "And what's wrong with that?"

Jeff had been prepared for that exact question. Throwing his hands in the air for dramatic effect, he hollered, "He has ten of them! Ten! In different colors and dimensions! If there was some 800 number I could call or intervention to perform, I would do it in a heartbeat!"

What this had to do with his laptop, Chris had no idea. "So… You _won't_ help me?"

Jeff sat back down. "Why would you want to break it in the first place?"

Poking at an imaginary spot on the table, Chris explained, "It doesn't have to be _broken_… Maybe you could plant one of those Trojan things… Scramble the hard drive a bit."

This was going far outside Jeff's comfort zone. Chris' computer was less than six months old. Why would be want to contaminate it? Jeff shook his head. "Sorry, man. As far as I'm concerned, Trojans are something you pick up in the Health aisle. And the only thing I know how to scramble are eggs. Now, what gives, Jericho?"

"Nothing," Chris insisted. Lucinda the laptop rested on the surface between them. "I just thought…"

Jeff swept the laptop off the table. It crashed to the floor with a sickening thud.

"_What the hell is wrong with you?_" Chris ran around the table and retrieved his precious Lucinda. He flipped it over, examining it on all sides. As far as he could tell, there was only a small scuff on the side. Cradling the computer in his arms, Chris cooed, "It's okay, baby. I won't let that mean, mean man anywhere near you again."

There were times Jeff worried his friend would wind up as one of those weirdoes with a dozen cats, reeking of cat urine and tang. Watching Chris' display, he now knew better. Chris would grow old with his computer.

"I thought you wanted me to break it."

Chris' blue eyes turned as dark as storm clouds. "The _inside_, you macadamia! He can't fix the _outside_!"

_Light bulb!_

"'He'?" Jeff inquired. "Who is 'he'?"

Running at a hundred miles an hour, Chris' brain tried to think of an answer that would be both acceptable and as far away from the truth as possible. Jeff could be so nosy; he should have been a private investigator. Or worked on that show _Cheaters_.

"What 'he'?" lied Chris. "Who he? I didn't say he. Do you smell gas? I think I left the oven on. Excuse me." Chris got off his knees and raced to the kitchen, Lucinda clutched to his chest.

Jeff did not buy any of it. In hot pursuit, he caught Chris by the shirt collar. "Who is he, Jericho? You can tell me now or tell me later, but I will find out."

It was true. Even if it meant tapping Chris' phone or hacking into his email. Jeff would get the goods. "You remember the guy who helped carry some boxes up from the curb when I moved in? Tall. Long brown hair. Scar on his left cheek."

"Oh, yeah…" A smile spread across Jeff's face. His hazel eyes danced. "Mr. Muscles."

One of Jeff's great attributes, Chris always said, was his tendency to speak his mind. Even when common sense and decency should have overridden the thought.

"Kane," Chris corrected. "His name is Kane and he lives upstairs."

Jeff shrugged. "I like my name better. But go on."

"I ran into him by the mailboxes the other day and we got to talking. Turns out he's really into computers and I happened to mention… just in passing, mind you… that my laptop had been acting screwy lately. Long story short –"

"Not short enough…"

Chris pressed on. "Kane said I could stop by his place sometime and he would take a look at it for me."

"I see…" Jeff rubbed his chin. "Like your own personal Geek Squad."

"If that's what you wanna call it," shrugged Chris. "Granted, I don't think he qualifies as a 'squad'."

Things became clear to Jeff very quickly. "So you need to turn your fully functioning computer into a non-functioning one in the hopes of initiating a hook-up?"

"Don't say 'hook-up'," Chris chided. "You know I hate that term. Besides, this is not a sexual tactic."

"I'll say it's not…"

"I'm just trying to get to know him better. I'm probably barking up the wrong tree anyway. He probably has a girlfriend or is celibate or was born a woman."

Jeff sighed. Loudly. The pity train had pulled into the station. And Chris had purchased a one-way ticket to Woe Is Me Island. Located in the Cape of Can't Get No Lovin'. "Is this the part where I give you an inspirational pep talk that sends you charging upstairs into the arms of the man of your dreams? Well, I don't have an Academy award winning writer in my back pocket. So this will have to do.

You are an intelligent, good-looking, compassionate man with few vices, strong ethics, and a questionable sense of humor. If Mr. Muscles does not know a good thing when it comes knocking at his door, then it sucks to be him. And I suggest you leave Lucinda alone because, if all else fails, you can use it to go on eHarmony. Now if you will excuse me… I have to get home before Matt eats all the hamburgers."


	2. But He Looks So Good

Remote control in hand, Kane examined the scene. Something was amiss. The three men assembled around the card table was a regular Saturday night occurrence. Two unlit cigars sat cradled in the ridged edges of an ashtray. The apartment was a smoke-free zone. Mark – Kane's older brother – shuffled a deck of cards while their two house guests popped the tabs on what would be the first in a long line of beers.

Kane finally put his finger on what was out of place. "Are those… Oreos?"

Mark threw him a sidelong look. "Yes," he responded. "They are. Since _someone_ has a problem with us betting real money… I'm not naming names… Just follow the tilt of my head." He tilted his head in Kane's direction. "The regular ones are twenty-five. Double-stuffed are fifty and the golden Oreos are worth one hundred bucks."

It was a good system, Kane had to admit. That way he did not have to lecture his brother about losing his share of the rent. Again. Not that Kane had much better of a track record when it came to addictive behavior. He was about two steps from Ebayers Anonymous himself.

"Don't get crumbs everywhere," complained Kane. "I just cleaned the kitchen this afternoon."

John Bradshaw – one of Mark's old fraternity brothers – chomped on the end of his unlit stogie. "Goodness, Martha… Prison sure has changed you."

For the sake of his brother and the maintenance of a civil living arrangement, Kane refrained from pouring a beer over Bradshaw's head. The man would likely have been more concerned with the waste of a perfectly good beer than the assault.

There was a knock at the door. None of the men at the table stirred.

"Don't worry," growled Kane. "I'll get that."

On his way to the door, Kane heard one of the men mumble, "You just can't find good help these days."

Chris Jericho stood on the other side of the door. He had a zebra-striped laptop tucked under one arm. It was only that morning that Kane had offered up his IT expertise. Chris' sudden arrival was a pleasant surprise.

"Chris, right?" Kane pretended to barely remember the man's name. However, the ear-to-ear grin was probably a dead give away that Kane had had Chris on his mind for quite some time. He stepped aside, motioning for Chris to enter. "What brings you to these parts?"

Kane wanted to kick himself in the butt the minute the words left his mouth. Not only had he asked a more-than-obvious question. He'd actually employed the phrase "these parts". Kane sounded like he'd just stepped out of a _Bonanza_ rerun.

"I know _why_ you're here," interjected Kane before Chris could get a word in. "I can _see_ why you're here. I'm not blind. Not that I have anything against blind people. I don't know any personally, but I'm sure they are wonderful." While his brain screamed _Shut up!_ , his mouth interpreted the message as _Keep going! You're doing a great job!_

"Kane!" shouted Mark. "If you're gonna talk that man to death, do it in the next room. I'm trying to bet over here!"

Leading Chris through the living room, Kane whispered, "That's my brother. He's got mental issues. It's really sad. Some days he thinks he's Tinkerbell."

Smirking, Chris whispered back, "Who does he think he is today?"

As they entered Kane's bedroom, they heard Mark yell, "You boys be sure to keep that door open! And no funny business!"

Kane slammed his door shut. "He thinks he's someone I won't kill."

"If you need help disposing of the body," Chris suggested, "I know a guy that owns a chainsaw and doesn't ask questions."

Head tilted to the side, Kane queried, "Do you really?"

"Oh, yes," said Chris. "But he's a little weird. And his brother has a thing about hamburgers. They're quite good, so I don't mind."

"He doesn't… make the hamburgers out of people, does he?"

"Nooo…" Chris took a seat in a nearby folding chair. "The Hardys are not Hannibals. Matt just likes meat. And so does Jeff, but in an entirely different way." Chris realized he had just outed his best friend.

Kane reached for Chris' laptop. "What seems to be the problem?"

"He has absolutely no social life," replied Chris. "Which leaves him too much time to meddle in mine."

Pausing, arm outstretched, Kane blinked several times. The man was a little screwy, he thought to himself. But he was a cute kind of screwy and Kane could live with that. "I was talking about the computer."

He's even cuter when he blushes, noted Kane.

"Umm… About that…" Chris' knee bobbed up and down like the needle of a sewing machine. "I may have exaggerated the extent of the damage." He ran his fingers nervously through his closely cropped blond hair. "She's very resilient."

"She?" Kane placed the laptop on his desk and booted it up.

"Lucinda," explained Chris. "Her name is Lucinda. She's got a five hundred gigabyte hard drive with an i5 Dual Core Processor and eight gigabytes of RAM.

Kane raised an eyebrow. "Impressive. You know your stuff." Mark thought a floppy disk was a condition of erectile dysfunction.

"I know what I like."

From the tome of Chris' voice, Kane wondered if he was referring to the machine or to… other things. Wishful thinking.

The picture on the desktop took Kane by surprise. "Whoa… Those are some big…"

Peering over the man's massive shoulder, Chris swore under his breath. "That was Comic-Con and Jeff insisted we take a picture. She was an impressive Wonder Woman. I'm not sure if the boobs were real… Or if she was really a she…" He decided to come clean about the computer. "And there's nothing wrong with the computer."

Chris's breath flickered across the back of Kane's neck. Moist heat spread across his skin, raising goose bumps. The disregard for Kane's personal space made thinking difficult. "Are you telling me that there is nothing wrong with your computer?"

"Yes, Kane." Befuddlement suited him, Chris thought.

"Then why did you…" Kane swiveled his chair to face Chris. They sat nearly nose to nose. With so little distance between them, Chris' features came into extreme focus. The slightly paler blue of his eyes, which were slightly lighter than Kane's. The delicate slope of his nose. The sweeping flush of red across his cheeks. The fullness of his bottom lip and its near-perfect shade of pink.

"Kane?"

He found the movement of Chris' mouth fascinating. "Huh?"

"You were saying something?"

"Probably." Kane's train of thought had derailed while crossing into Sin City.

"About my computer," prompted Chris. "You probably think it's kinda weird, don't you?"

Kane thought no such thing. Well, maybe it was a bit odd. Yet his own brother was betting with Oreos, so Kane had no room to judge. "I'm sure you have a perfectly logical reason."

He did not know Chris at all. "Not so much," Chris conceded. "I just used it as an excuse to come see you."

This did not compute properly for Kane. Not the idea that Chris looked forward to seeing him. But that the man would go to such lengths. While Kane had been wondering if his seven-foot frame would prove to be too intimidating for a friendship to form, Chris was plotting ways to get to see him again. How bizarre.

"You do realize," started Kane, "that you could have dropped by anytime you liked? Except between seven and eight in the evening on weekdays. That's when Mark watches _The Young & The Restless_ on SoapNet. He does not take too kindly to disturbances. Especially when someone is having a baby with someone else's husband."

Chris breathed a sigh of relief. He reclined against the door. "Well, that's good to know. So that means you haven't rescinded your invitation even in the face of overwhelming evidence that I can be, as my best friend prefers to phrase it, more harebrained than a bunny rancher?"

Before Kane could reply, the bedroom door swung open. The momentum sent Chris sprawling face first into Kane's lap.

"Ron's eaten all the double-stuffed," Mark said, by way of greeting. "So we thought maybe you…" His voice trailed to nothing as he surveyed the scene in his brother's room. The blond man Kane had failed to introduce properly knelt on the floor, hands clutching Kane's thighs. Both appeared visibly shaken. Mark quickly put two and two together, resulting in a conclusion he was not prepared to deal with. "Never mind." He shut the door as swiftly as he'd opened it.

For a moment, neither Chris no Kane said a word. They did not move. They avoided eye contact.

"Does your brother think…"

"Yup."

"Is he gonna tell his buddies?"

"No, he's taking this one to his grave."

Chris paused. "Should I… get up now?"

It was Kane's turn to pause. "Can you think of any reason to stay down there?"

Slowly, Chris nodded his head. "I have a suggestion or two worth discussing. Of course, you'll have to buy me dinner first."

Kane mulled it over. "You like steak?"

From the living room, they heard Mark holler, "For the love of God, don't open the door! Your face will melt off like those Nazis in _Raiders of the Lost Ark_!"

**END**


End file.
